Couch Time
by abc79-de
Summary: Set in season 5 of Bones, just as they return to working cases together. Sweets calls the pair in for a reassessment.
1. Socks and Psychics

Title: Couch Time

Chapter: Socks and Psychics: Harbinger Aftermath

Summary: Set in season 5 of Bones, just as they return to working cases together. Sweets calls the pair in for a reassessment.

AN: I'm new to Bones, but not to fan fiction. Got this idea from watching the season 3 Couples Counseling shorts. I enjoy the verbal sparring between the two leads, and their interactions with Dr. Sweets. This whole story will be set in his office.

Dr. Temperance Brennan sat, her eyes precisely skimming over the words in the clinical journal, hitting two points on each line, as she read over an article that explored the link between depression and osteoporosis. She was, as always, skeptical of any correlation between hard and soft science. However at the moment, her need to voice her skepticism had little to do with her passion about the topic and her uncomfortable need to find an ice-breaker as she and her partner had sat for nearly five minutes without conversation.

"I would like to see the credentials and research methods of this supposed doctor. Osteoporosis is a well-defined and measureable disease that has physical geneses—your bones don't get brittle from a mood disorder."

Her partner, FBI agent Seeley Booth, looked up from his hands, which were clasped in his lap. He had one leg crossed, ankle at the knee, showing off matching striped socks under his pant legs. He'd switched back from black after she pointed out the noticeable difference in his attire since he'd returned to duty upon recovering from his brain surgery a couple months prior. She had not mentioned outright the depth of her concern about the changes in him, both easily discernible and not, but it was increasingly apparently that they were both aware such differences existed. That made it worse somehow, as his partner was not one to hold back when she knew things to be somehow askew.

"Depression has physical causes, too, though, doesn't it? Chemicals or something. Too much, or not enough of something in the brain?" he said, mostly without passion to his tone. The idea didn't outrage him in the slightest, and the reason for their having been called into the FBI psychologist's office was weighing on his mind. He wasn't ready to discuss the recent changes to his life, let alone explore the reasons behind them. He also wasn't ready to lose Bones as a partner, which was the only reason he showed up for the appointment. He hoped between the two of them, they could divert attention off themselves with Dr. Lance Sweets, as they'd become so adept at doing in the past. He hoped that surely his self-preservation instincts remained intact.

"Neurotransmitters and neurotoxins," she supplied easily, "specifically norepinephrine and serotonin. But there is no conclusive evidence that they're implicated in osteoporosis—any link is highly experimental at this point. This man is a quack."

"You think all psychologists are quacks," he said with a sigh. She detected a hint of a smile in his passive-aggressive response. She detected a hint of the old Booth in almost everything he did. Just enough to miss him, in fact. It was clear he was making an effort, but he wasn't still quite back to the man she knew before. She missed that stupid belt buckle perhaps most of all.

"I believe that they are genuine in their pursuit for some kind of truth, but I don't understand why they don't confine their efforts to the effects of brain chemistry and leave all the talking and emotion out of it. It's all conjecture at a certain point."

Booth gave a chuckle. "So, to you all psychiatrists are misguided neurologists?"

"I didn't say that. I just think the brain is complex enough without having to then assign conjecture and speculation that are entirely subjective and label it scientific in nature. It's not scientific. If it were, it would show that people react the same way to the same stimuli. But that is clearly not the case. We disprove that on a daily basis."

"We as in, you and me, or we as in our interactions with other people, solving murders?"

She considered the question. "Specifically, I meant you and me. We're completely different people, with radically different ideologies."

"But that's not bad," he said, emphasizing the last word.

She lifted her head sharply, her eyes softening as she met his. "Of course not."

He nodded and went back to staring at his hands. "Right."

"Booth," she said with hesitation.

"Yeah?" he asked, his eyes hopeful as he met her gaze once again.

The door to Dr. Sweets' office opened and a middle-aged man, who from the looks of his physique had been transferred to desk duty, walked out and past the waiting pair without a thought. Dr. Sweets stared at the two of them, nearly as if he were surprised at their joint visit. "You're both here."

Bones frowned at Booth. "Is this some sort of trick?"

"Of course we're here, Sweets. It's not like you gave us a choice."

"Yeah, but you're both here and on time," the psychologist said with a furrowed brow.

Booth stood up and shook his head as he walked past their summoner and moved to sit on his side of the therapy couch. Dr. Brennan put down the so-called scientific journal and followed her partner. "You need higher quality reading material."

"At least they're all current," Dr. Sweets defended as he closed the door behind the trio. By the time he rounded back to his seat, Dr. Brennan had taken her seat next to Booth and was readjusting her jacket.

"Let's just get down to it, can we? It's been a long week," Booth said as he unbuttoned his suit jacket and put his right arm on the edge of the couch. "And Bones needs to get some rest."

Brennan glanced from Sweets to Booth, shaking her head, her body already correcting him. "I'm fine. The doctor checked my dressing this morning and said I was healing satisfactorily. I've already weaned myself off the narcotics and onto mild ibuprofen for residual pain."

Booth pointed at her arm. "A-ha! See, you have residual pain. You need rest."

"This was the wound you incurred when dealing with the clinic doctor?" Sweets said, flipping through his notes. "Dr. Leacock."

"Is that why we had to come in? Because Booth killed Dr. Leacock? Because I was relieved, and I assure you the experience wasn't traumatizing," Temperance said plainly to Dr. Sweets.

"It's not the only reason, but it's something we should touch on," Sweets said.

"He was coming at her with a knife," Booth said in his own defense.

"Technically, it was a scalpel. A ten-blade," Brennan supplied, helpfully.

"I'm not criticizing you for shooting him," Sweets said, trying to ease Booth's tension.

"Good. Then we're done here?" Booth asked hopefully.

"No," Sweets said, a little too abruptly. The pair was notorious for cutting sessions short, mostly out of his control. "I was curious as to how you knew where Dr. Brennan was, and why you believed she was in danger. The report said you came in with your gun drawn, correct?"

Booth licked his lips and slid his brown eyes to Brennan, who was waiting expectantly for the answer as well. She hadn't asked how he'd known to find her; at the time she was too busy bleeding and sitting in relief in his arms as adrenaline flooded her system to ask any questions. By the time her vitals stabilized completely, he was back in his office, with her lost blood still soaked through his clothes.

"Anonymous tip," he said quickly.

Sweets suddenly smiled knowingly. "I see."

Booth narrowed his gaze at the psychologist. "Don't make this is into something it's not."

"I thought it was your gut," Brennan said to Booth, ignoring Sweets.

"It wasn't his gut, it was the psychic," Sweets said with a triumphant satisfaction.

"You don't believe in all that stuff," Brennan reminded Booth, as if it was just another side effect of his surgery, like his socks or his confusion over clowns.

"I don't. She was just so emphatic that I get to you. That you were in danger. She kept saying it over and over and all I could think was that if I didn't get to you, I'd lose you," he said with a raw emotion even he hadn't anticipated.

"Booth," she whispered.

"Was your fear relieved when you were able to see her?" Sweets asked.

Booth cut a glare Sweet's direction. "She was in danger."

"So you admit that the psychic was right."

"Listen, Sweets, I'm glad you found your watch," Booth said in an attempt to downplay the role that the psychic had played in all their lives.

"She was right about a lot of things. Did she say other things to you that you wish she hadn't been so accurate about?" Sweets inquired.

"Did Angela say something to you?" Brennan asked Sweets.

Sweets shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "That's confidential."

"Not if it pertains to why you called us in here," Dr. Brennan reasoned. "Furthermore, if she spoke to you about us, it's considered gossip, which is not extended to patient confidentiality."

"She may have mentioned to me over lunch that the psychic informed the two of you that in Booth's coma dream, the two of you were expecting a baby."

"Well, at least we were married first," Booth joked. Neither Brennan nor Sweets laughed.

"His dream has no bearing on reality. He knows that and so do I. For starters, I don't plan on ever getting married," she announced.

"Never?" Booth asked her in disbelief.

She turned to him. "You knew that."

"Well, I know you said it, but I figured that you'd meet the right guy and change your mind eventually."

She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "That's very backward thinking, even for you, Booth."

"Excuse me?"

"I would like to point out that at one point in the not-so-distant past, you were intent on having Booth's baby," Sweets reminded her.

Booth pointed to Sweets and snapped his fingers. "That probably explains the marriage dream. You know, I'm Catholic, and I have issues about not being married to Parker's mom, so," he shrugged, eager to write off any other potential cause for his dream life.

"I don't think that's the underlying cause of your dream," Sweets argued.

"See? It's completely subjective," Brennan said with a tilt of her head to Booth.

"What is?" Sweets asked.

She turned to him and blinked. "Psychology."

Sweets sank down into his chair with a groan.

"Are you gonna make Sweets cry again?" Booth asked, now quite enjoying the session.

Sweets opened his eyes. "I did not cry."

"Men don't get things in their eyes," Booth said sternly.

"Sweets, it's okay for men to cry. It's an arcane belief that men can't be emotionally open. Just like it's a falsehood that all women are," Brennan stated calmly.

"Can we refocus here? This isn't about me," Sweets said as he put his palms on his knees. "I wanted to check in with the two of you, now that you've worked a successful case together again, to make sure that the two of you are still beneficial to each other as partners."

"I'd say that his saving my life was beneficial," Brennan stated succinctly.

"I didn't save you," Booth said humbly.

She turned to him and fixed him with her normally cool blue eyes. He saw something there, something more—something he tried to convince himself wasn't there—as she spoke. "You did, Booth. You saved me. You're back, and you saved me. It's what you do. You're back even if you don't feel it yet. I know it."

He smiled warmly. "Thanks, Bones."

"Is that true, that you don't feel all the way back yet?" Sweets asked seriously.

"He laughed at a clown," Brennan informed Sweets.

Sweets frowned at Booth. "You hate clowns."

"I know!" Booth exclaimed with both hands extended out and palms upturned.

"Isn't that why you had to start counseling in the first place, because you shot a clown?" Sweets asked.

"I did not shoot a clown. I shot the top of a clown head on a van. And I don't see what the big deal is. Would you have preferred I shot the clown?"

"No one is suggesting that violence is a preferred method of dealing with any situation," Lance said smoothly.

"The FBI trained him in violence, in order to perform his job," Brennan corrected Sweets.

"To protect people from threats, not to unleash upon unsuspecting clowns," Sweets argued.

"I suppose that's a valid point," she deferred.

"I'm fine, okay? The clown just caught me off-guard. Like the psychic. It's been a lot to process for my first case back," Booth managed.

"Does it bother you, that you couldn't make murder charges stick with the perpetrator?" Sweets concluded.

Booth pointed at Sweets. "We got him. He's going to jail, so it all worked out just fine."

"But not for murder. You're homicide, that's what your focus is."

"I'm aware of that," Booth said. "But sometimes you have to take what you can get."

There was a strained silence in the room. It was Brennan that broke the silence. "There is one thing I'd like to know."

"Go ahead. This is a safe space," Sweets said in a professional manner.

"I could have let it go, but now that I know that you took stock in what the psychic said," she began, addressing Booth.

"I wouldn't go that far," Booth said.

"I want to know what she meant when she said it would all work out," she pressed.

Booth shot Sweets a look of distress, but he got no reprieve. All eyes were on him. "It's nothing, I told you. It's just something that people say, like an expression. Back me up, Sweets."

"Avalon seemed to choose her words very carefully, in my opinion."

"Thanks a lot, Sweets," Booth muttered. "She just meant that us, our relationship, it would turn out for the best."

"Our professional relationship?" Brennan clarified.

"What else could she mean?" Booth asked easily as he ignored the realization that was washing over Sweets' face.

"Well, she did put way too much stock into the dream you had. But obviously that was nothing more than an ephemeral dream reality brought on by a prolonged sleep-state. One can hardly base their waking reality on what the subconscious mind amalgamates during REM processes," she scoffed as if it were a funny joke.

Dr. Sweets looked downright injured by her comment, but instead of engaging her in an unproductive effort to change her mind about the validity of his entire profession, he engaged Booth. "Our time is almost up. Is there anything else you care to share, either with Dr. Brennan or myself?"

Booth took a deep inhale as he looked from Sweets to Brennan. Her eyes were patient and waiting, and for a moment, he imagined a reality where he could make the confession he'd given to Cam and Sweets, and cowardly to even her in the street. But he knew what would come next. Her compartmentalizing of his confession. She wasn't ready. He wasn't even sure if he was ready, even after seeing how happy he'd be with her, thanks to his coma dream. He hoped the psychic was right, and it would all work out, but he wasn't ready to push her into anything.

"I'm good. How 'bout you, Bones?" he asked as he stretched his back.

"I'm ready to get our drink. You do remember our ritual, don't you?" she asked him readily.

He smiled. "Of course. We close all our cases at the Founding Fathers."

"That's all you needed, correct? Our insights to make sure that we were both performing according to the FBI's guidebook after our hiatus?" Bones asked Sweets, clearly ready to end the interlude.

"That's rulebook," Booth interjected.

"What rulebook?" Bones asked.

"The FBI, they don't do guidelines. That's the FDA. The FBI is all about the rules, which is why Sweets dragged us in here to make sure we were still capable of having a high-functioning professional relationship, right Sweets?"

"I'm high-functioning in all aspects of my life," she informed them both without hesitation.

"And you both feel good about your current relationship?" Lance asked, his eyebrows still furrowed and his lips in a near pout. He was in disbelief that after all the events that had led them to that moment; they were both content to cling to how things had been before it all got turned on its ear.

"Very satisfied," Dr. Brennan nodded amiably before turning to Booth. "What about you?"

"Yeah, I'm good. Thanks for the talk, Sweets."

"Not so fast!" Dr. Sweets stood quickly as his subjects rose from their sanctioned session. "I'll see you next week."

"You mean just Booth? I think it's best that he's checked by his neurologist, if you're worried about any further repercussions to the damage incurred by his brain trauma," she argued the point with Sweets.

"I'm sure if his neurologist signed off on him, that there will be no lasting physical issues," Sweets said, shaking the idea off. "But I, I mean, the Bureau feels that the two of you have been successful enough in the past that it warrants us monitoring the situation for a while, until we're sure you're both completely back into the swing of things."

"I went to Guatemala and dug up ancient remains. My brain is fine," she argued.

Sweets gave Booth a pleading look. "Yeah, but you're my partner, and he probably just wants your input as to my performance on the job, since you're with me all the time," Booth supplied, knowing that he owed Sweets something after his private confession of love for his partner.

"Exactly," Sweets said, rushing to agree.

Brennan shrugged. "Fine. As long as it doesn't interfere with my real work."

"It won't," Sweets promised. "So, next week?"

Booth let out a sigh. "We'll be here."

Sweets smiled triumphantly as the two left his office and shut the door behind them, failing to invite him along to their celebratory drink. Bones turned to Booth before they hit the main reception door. "Wait, should we be celebrating? I mean, we didn't attach Fargood as the murderer of all those people," she pointed out the main difference between that and the rest of their cases.

He opened the door for her. "Bones, we caught the bad guy. That is always cause for a drink."


	2. Spies and Sexuality

Title: Couch Time

Chapter: Spies and Sexuality: Bond Aftermath

Summary: Set in season 5 of Bones, just as they return to working cases together. Sweets calls the pair in for a reassessment.

AN: Thanks for the lovely reviews. It's always a little uneasy, going into a new fandom.

Brennan peered over Booth's shoulder, leaning in close enough to brush her shoulder with his. Their heights were similar enough to make it obvious how well their bodies fit together, and it was highlighted by the way her arm eased back into his chest as she continued to invade his personal space in such an oblivious way. He cleared his throat and attempted to ignore the increase in proximity and the smell of her shampoo, which he assumed was organic and cost more than he spent on a haircut.

"Why are you looking at pictures of people drinking iced coffee as they walk down the street?" she inquired after he turned a couple more pages without really taking notice of the contents of the magazine. He was overcome with the scent of a slightly exotic fruit that emanated from her scalp.

"It's a _People _magazine," he said simply, as if that should sufficiently explain the entire matter for her, despite knowing there was a high likelihood that she'd never heard of the bestselling publication.

"Why would anyone wear such warm weather boots and shorts with insufficient fabric to cover their gluteus Maximus?" she asked with keen disapproval, this time reaching across his chest to highlight to her case-in-point.

"You'd have to ask Ashlee Simpson," he managed, turning the page again from her scrutiny.

"Who's Ashlee Simpson?" she asked, fully ignorant as visible in her clear blue eyes. He wondered, just for a moment, how blissful it must be in her shoes every now and then. There were tradeoffs to everyone's station in life, which he was fully aware. Her intellect limited her, and damned if he didn't find it endearing.

"It doesn't matter," he assured her.

"But you're looking at pictures of her in a magazine. This is quite voyeuristic," she said, still gazing over the full-color pages with novelty.

"Which is why it's a top seller. People love to get a look at the lives of celebrities," he informed her.

"But most of those people haven't done anything to garner an elevated status. At least, none that I've heard of."

"True, but they do all have money, or are in the process of spending more money than most people can ever dream about," he explained.

"That's asinine. If they have earned a substantial amount of wealth, the wise thing to do is invest a percentage, and if they are looking for ways to share their good fortune, there are any number of charity organizations to donate to. They certainly are better deserving of the money than wasting them on that," she said as she tapped with a well-manicured fingernail to a large purse that another celebrity was carrying. "What is that?"

"Let's just say that you're one of the few that can afford that kind of bag," he assured her.

"I don't think I'd like one," she said with a shake of her head.

"It's definitely not something you can carry around dead body parts in," he mused.

"Or tools," she added proudly.

"Bones, I'm not sure you're ready to fix anything without supervision yet. Besides, you don't need your own tools, you can borrow mine. I have a full set."

"Am I interrupting something?" Dr. Sweets asked from his opened doorway.

Brennan pulled back from her position that had left her resting against her partner. Booth was at once cognizant of the lack of warm pressure her body had provided. He pushed the sensation out of his mind.

"We were just referring to the fact that Booth taught me how to fix a leaky pipe," she boasted with a smile.

Sweets' face brightened. "That sounds like an excellent idea. Did you find the exercise of showing someone else what to do helpful in retrieving your old memories?"

Booth shot Bones a look, to which she nodded with encouragement. "We should probably go in the office to finish the story. Sweets will want to read something greater into it."

"I only comment on behaviors that are indicative of other underlying meaning," he defended.

"Maybe you should ask him why that girl was wearing the Uggs with cutoffs," Booth suggested.

"Well, it is his magazine," Brennan said as she got up to join Booth in the psychiatrist's office.

"Excuse me, not all my patients are as highbrow as you. It's a relaxing, if somewhat guilty, pleasure, for some people to read those magazines," Dr. Sweets explained.

"I thought pornographic magazines were used to indulge those kinds of pleasures," she stated matter-of-factly with nary a blink.

Sweets' mouth parted slightly. "I can't put porn out in my waiting room. And besides, there's a theory that engaging in such a mindless retreat helps open the mind for further inflection." "

Brennan shrugged one shoulder. "You're the one that brought up guilty pleasures. Certainly you've looked at pornography before, correct?"

Sweets faltered. "I don't see how that's relevant to our session," he managed.

"What about you, Booth? You were in the military, surely you've used pornography as some sort of aid for release."

Booth's eyebrows shot up. "Wow."

"It's completely normal, and in some cases therapeutic. Unless you enjoy some sort of dangerous fetish, I suppose," she said evenly.

"So, big case this week," Sweets said with a clap of his hands. "James Bond, CIA, Russian torture," he surmised.

"Ukrainian. And the victim's name was Greg Dorit, not James Bond. James Bond is a fictional character," Brennan supplied for his notes.

"I heard he had the gun. Was it cool?" Sweets asked Booth.

Booth smiled. "So awesome!"

"Angela was correct," Brennan noted, mostly to herself.

"About what?" Sweets asked.

"She told me that men get sexually aroused at the notion of pretending to be a spy and the idea that women will literally spread their legs for such men due to the heightened sense of danger it provides to aid in sexual intensity."

"Now that's an overgeneralization," Booth argued.

"You've been going on and on about all this Bond stuff since we got the case," she shot back.

"Yeah, because I like the movies. That's all."

"So, you don't engage in sexual fantasies where you suppose the role of the double agent spy and the woman is an operative who is overcome by your power?" she pressed.

"I don't need sexual fantasies," Booth said as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"That's preposterous. Everyone has fantasies, Booth. It's a matter of human nature. And you said we don't have any secrets, so why won't you tell me about your fantasies?"

"You told her that the two of you don't have any secrets?" Sweets asked, surprised at the fallacy.

"We tell each other everything," Bones reaffirmed with a nod.

"Partners shouldn't have secrets," Booth agreed, though he failed to meet Sweets' eyes.

"Everyone has secrets," Sweets pointed out. "Like sexual fantasy, it's another condition of the human nature. It's in delving into what holds us back that allows us to grow as people."

"He wanted to hear about our plumbing story, let's talk about that," Booth encouraged his partner, doing his best to dodge nearly anything Sweets truly wanted to discuss with the pair.

"Well, you did get it repaired successfully," Bones said proudly.

"Oh, that reminds me, I have your shirt in my office," he said with a snap of his fingers, indicating he'd forgotten the item.

"Excuse me?" Sweets yelped.

Brennan faced Sweets. "It's nothing. On our first attempt to secure the fittings, when Booth turned on the water again, it failed to hold and the spray soaked through my shirt."

Sweets was listening with rapt attention. He'd leaned too far forward with his elbows on his knees and had a sudden failure to blink.

"I couldn't just leave her laying there on my kitchen floor all wet with her shirt sticking to her," Booth pointed out.

"What happened then?" Sweets encouraged.

"Why is he looking at us like that?" Brennan asked Booth.

"Because he's hoping this is where the story gets dirty," Booth glared at Sweets. "It doesn't. I gave her a t-shirt and put her shirt in the washing machine."

"He fixed the fitting before my shirt was finished in the dryer," Bones finished. "And he did it without the book."

"The Dummy book?" Sweets asked, doing his best to recompose himself.

"I just needed a little refresher," Booth defended.

"Okay, let's move on. In our last conversation about the plumbing situation, I noticed a small amount of discord about the fact that Dr. Brennan has earned a substantial amount from her books. Has that issue been properly resolved?"

"There's no issue," Booth said. "Our partnership has nothing to do with money."

"And I would never jeopardize his virility by lording my wealth over him. I'm always happy to aid him, but I've found in the past that he's too proud to accept such extensions."

"I'm not proud, and my virility is not jeopardized," Booth informed the room as he shielded himself with his hands.

"That was defensive," Sweets interjected.

"I agree. But then Booth tends to be overly protective of any perceived slight to his masculinity," Brennan realized.

"That was quite the psychological insight, well done, Dr. Brennan," Sweets said with admiration.

"Hardly. It's seen quite commonly in many cultures, in both male and female dominated societies. Did you know there were some cultures in which men would fight to the death for the honor of impregnating a woman of high standing?"

Booth turned to her with renewed interest. "Is that your sexual fantasy?"

She gave a half smile. "While I don't condone physical violence for sport, I do find it alluring in a somewhat primal manner."

"And you think our spy fantasies are messed up," Booth said with a low whistle.

"On the contrary. I never said you had any reason to be ashamed of your sexuality, Booth."

"I think we should continue in this vein," Sweets suggested.

"You would," Booth muttered. "I'm not overly protective of my virility, okay? There is nothing wrong with my virility."

"I agree. Statistically speaking, your physical appearance should allow you to have your pick of female companionship, and you've already fathered one child, and a male at that, so your genetic lineage is assured. You should be quite content in that regard," Bones analyzed his situation.

"And yet, something is undermining his self-assurance in that area," Sweets poked at the sore point.

"It is not," Booth seethed.

"My guess is it's the money issue. It can be quite difficult to view yourself as an inferior to your partner, especially when it's the cultural norm for the man to have more money," Sweets provided.

"He said money doesn't matter to him," Brennan corrected him.

"It doesn't. And I'm very happy for her. She's very talented, and she works hard for her money," Booth explained.

"You work just as hard as I do, Booth. And while my talent lies in more academic pursuits, your talents are arguably harder to achieve. Not everyone has the skill to be such a high-ranking marksman."

"Thank you, Bones."

"You're welcome, Booth," she said as she gave him a warm smile.

Sweets glanced from one to the other before sitting back in his chair and tapping his pen against his notepad. "So, you're both fine with the money issue, and you are telling me that you have a no-secrets policy."

"We're an open book, Sweets," Booth said with a guarded smile.

"Some people might find difficulty in describing their sexual fantasies with members of the opposite sex that they're not currently engaged with sexually," Sweets said, grasping at any topic that would lead them to trip up on the full-honesty illusion.

"Hey, she brought up sexual fantasies, not me. Some things deserve a little mystery," Booth agreed.

"It was a natural progression. Violence and sexuality are often linked. I've never been ashamed of my sexuality," Brennan announced.

"Yeah, well, I'm Catholic. We like guilt. It keeps us in line," Booth muttered.

"Don't get me started on religious persecution of sexual deviance," Brennan said with a little chortle.

"We're completely off topic here," Sweets said with a sad shake of his head.

"What was the subject matter for this session, Sweets?" Brennan asked.

Lance closed his eyes and tried to collect his thoughts. "Our goal is to make sure that your cases are progressing satisfactorily since your hiatus."

"Hey, we solved a man's murder, so I'm peachy," Booth announced.

"I'm also quite pleased with the outcome," Bones affirmed.

Sweets sank back in his chair, once again feeling bested by their outward appearances. He knew better than to believe that they were putting all their cards on the table, as it were. "If you're both certain that everything is fine, I guess this session is concluded."

Booth stood up. "So, we're done with the analysis?"

Sweets shook his head. "Not until I'm certain that all issues have been properly addressed."

"We've been quite forthcoming with you, Sweets," Brennan argued.

"True, and while I believe progress is being made, there are certain topics that can't be rushed."

Brennan shrugged. "If you're certain."

Sweets nodded. "I am. See you both next week."

"Come on, Bones, I'll walk you out," Booth said as he grabbed the door gallantly and waited for her to pass through. His eyes remained on Sweets, who gave him a tight, definitively knowing, smile.

"I think I know what Sweets is holding out for," she said conspiratorially to Booth.

"Yeah? What's that, an alternate ending to our ending up soaking wet on my kitchen floor?" he asked, his intent being humor, though his voice dropping a half an octave upon delivery.

She gazed at him studiously, attempting to gage his sincerity. "That was a joke? Very humorous, Booth, since he thinks we're compatible sexually," she nodded with a smile. "No, it's your belt buckle."

He put his hand to his waist, which was secured by a plain silver buckle. "My belt buckle."

She nodded. "Yes. He won't be happy until we're providing him with the stereotypes of ourselves that he's comfortable with."

He smiled. "I love how you made him sound like the neurotic one. I'm buying you a beer for that one, Bones."

"And maybe after that, you'll be comfortable enough to tell me about one of your sexual fantasies," she suggested.

"It'll take a whole hell of a lot more than one beer for that one, Bones," he said with a chuckle as they exited the main office doors.


	3. Virgins and Prodigies

Title: Couch Time

Chapter: Virgins and Prodigies

Summary: Set in season 5 of Bones, just as they return to working cases together. Sweets calls the pair in for a reassessment.

Dr. Brennan came straight into the psychologist's office, her steps hurried to show that she'd attempted to make up for what she realized was lost time. Perhaps she did consider her time slightly more valuable than that of others, but that didn't mean she was above impressing that fact on everyone else on a regular basis. These were not actions that came naturally to her, but it was easier to make allowances when it came to her partner.

Booth and the good doctor took note of her presence at once, as their conversation halted mid-sentence. She took note that while Sweets instantly moved his eyes to her, Booth turned his attention to the window, where he could stare out onto nothing more than a blue sky. Brushing off cues from the body language she was presented with, she sat down next to her partner.

"Sorry I'm late. I was reviewing a paper that one of my grad students submitted on the nature of carbon dating use on skeletal remains in volcanic areas and the ramifications of the inconsistencies that occur and I lost track of time," she explained.

Booth blinked as he offered a slight frown her way, and Sweets just sat back in his chair and indicated that she should make herself comfortable. "That sounds interesting," Sweets offered.

"It's a well-known issue. That and other types of radiation can skew findings. It's why we have calibration curves," she shrugged in a non-committal fashion. "It's all the young students, who are eager to discover something new—they forget they first have to learn all the accepted knowledge thus far to break through that point."

Sweets glanced to Booth then, as she shrugged off her jacket. "That's an interesting conclusion."

"Don't start, Sweets," Booth argued, as he cut his eyes back to their proctor.

"Are you interested in more reliable methods of dating remains?" Brennan asked Booth, puzzled at why they seemed to be directing such comments toward one another.

"I don't really even know what you're talking about," Booth admitted.

"Did you start the session without me?" she asked, having realized just then that perhaps they were assigning another meaning to her vocalized thoughts.

"We were just shooting the breeze," Sweets assured her.

"But Booth is annoyed with you. He tends to only get that way when you're delving into his personal life without his consent," she insisted.

"It's fine," Booth said. "Let's just start over now that Bones is here."

"Fine by me," Sweets agreed, in a tone that indicated he would back off from whatever they'd discussed in her absence.

"Did he tell you that we figured out that Levi was going to give up music to return to his community?" Brennan asked Sweets.

"I read that in the report," Sweets said with a nod as he crossed one ankle over his knee. "I'm sure his parents were happy to at least have that knowledge."

"It seemed the least we could do," Booth said solemnly.

"If we hadn't gotten involved, they literally would have had nothing personal of his to remember him by. They certainly would have never understood the meaning of those rocks under his bed, if they'd ever noticed them at all," Brennan added. "It seems a shame, to give up so much just for one's religious beliefs."

"Can we not get into the whole religious debate again?" Booth asked with a sigh as he finally turned to meet her eye-to-eye for the first time since she'd arrived. She offered him a tempered pout in response.

"Has that been a sore point between you recently?" Sweets inquired.

"She doesn't respect the fact that I'm Catholic," Booth supplied, "but that's not a new occurrence."

"That's not true, Booth. I do respect the fact that you have faith in your religion," she corrected with enthusiasm.

He frowned again, as her words had confused him. "You do?"

She nodded. "Of course. Just because I don't understand something on a personal level, that doesn't mean I can't see the appeal that millions of other people find in organized religions. It must be… comforting," she supplied after she landed on the proper emotion.

"It is," Booth agreed guardedly.

"Does it bother you that she doesn't agree with your religious views?" Sweets asked Booth.

Booth turned back to Sweets. "What? No. That's what makes this country so great, is the freedoms we're allowed. She's free to not believe in God just as much as I'm free to practice all the holy rites involved in my religion."

"Which, admittedly, isn't exactly in a devout manner," Brennan cut in.

"What's that mean?" Booth asked, still on the defensive despite her grand acknowledgment on his behalf.

"Well," she said with a half-smile, "What is the Pope's ruling on sex before marriage? Surely the Church wouldn't have condoned you having sex at sixteen," she offered. "At least, not in this society, where it is unusual for a sixteen-year-old to be married and engaging in sex as solely a means of reproduction."

"You told Brennan about your first sexual experience?" Sweets inquired, his voice nearly breaking in the process.

Booth glared at him. "In passing. It's not like I made her popcorn and explained it in a play-by-play," he scoffed.

"Did you reciprocate in conveying your first sexual experience to him as well?" Sweets asked Brennan, his eyes still saucer-like as he tried to put the exchange together.

She nodded. "Of course. Booth doesn't like to give out personal information without an even exchange. I informed him I was twenty-two and that it was a choice I was comfortable with."

Sweets eyed her warily. "That sounds quite clinical."

"That's what I said," Booth chimed in. "Isn't that a little long for someone to wait to first have sex? I think I would have exploded if I'd waited that long, religion or not."

"Everyone matures at their own pace, but twenty-two is probably at the other end of the bell curve," Sweets admitted.

"How old were you?" Brennan asked, her feathers slightly ruffled at being labeled a late bloomer.

"Uh," Sweets hedged and shook his head slightly, glancing between the two.

"Come on, Sweets, fair is fair. You know our numbers," Booth chided with an easy smile.

"That is not how therapy works," Sweets argued. "I'm happy to let topics evolve naturally as they occur between the two of you, but I'm not here to put my private life on display. How did you happen upon the topic of virginity? The fact that your victim was Amish?"

"No, it was because Cam was afraid of Michelle engaging in a sexual relationship with her boyfriend," Brennan supplied. "Booth was arguing, rather incorrectly, that she should hold off solely on the basis of her age."

"Excuse me, how was my argument incorrect?" he posed.

"You contradicted yourself," she offered. "You said that she should wait until she was twenty-two, like me, but then you told me that my first time should have been a bundle of hormones and excitement, like yours apparently was," she said in a hasty tone.

"Are you afraid that Dr. Brennan missed out on something by waiting so long?" Sweets asked. It was clear that his words held a double meaning, and Booth felt the nerves at the back of his neck prickle.

"Hey, it's her life, her decision. It had nothing to do with me. I was just offering my opinion, that's all," he managed.

"My first sexual experience was not lacking. Far from it, in fact, I achieved orgasm four times," she offered.

"Four times?" Sweets asked as he once again leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "Really?"

"What did you do, find some sort of tantric sex guru?" Booth asked.

She blinked at him. "No, he was a professor in Greek mythology at Oxford, during a seminar I was taking on break from my doctorate program."

"That's just wrong, a professor taking advantage of his students," Booth dismissed as if the words tasted bad in his mouth.

"He did not take advantage of me, Booth. I was just as aggressive as he was, and in fact, it was me that instigated the first contact," she explained easily.

"I don't see how this has any bearing on our work relationship," Booth said finally.

"You asked," she said with a shrug. "I just think that being as you were sixteen when you first had sex, it's hypocritical of you to think Michelle should abstain if she feels she's ready to engage in coitus."

"I think that's something that Dr. Saroyan can handle herself," Sweets said with finality.

"On the contrary, she was asking for advice of her colleagues, and I saw her looking at a book that depicted a cartoon penis offering advice for parents of teens while she was in her office. She was hardly keeping it to herself."

"A cartoon penis?" Booth asked, aghast. "See, this is not how men handle these things."

"How should men handle these things?" Sweets posed.

"Directly. If there is a problem, you take care of it," he said with a swipe of his palms smacking together as they moved past the other in space.

"What did you do, Booth?" Brennan asked.

He shifted and cleared his throat. "Nothing. I just had a little talk with Perry. That's all."

"Perry is Michelle's boyfriend? You talked to him?" Sweets reiterated.

"Yes. Teenage boys need to know that there is a man in the lives of their girlfriends, and one who is capable of hurting them in ways that they are desperate to avoid. All I did was introduce myself to him and make it clear that I am willing to be that guy for Michelle."

"Oh, Booth," Brennan sighed.

"What? Don't think your dad would have done the same thing for you if he could have when you were sixteen—or twenty-two, or whenever," he stumbled over his analogy.

"I think my father is not the best example of parenting, although I do know he's willing to go to prison for me, but I believe women should learn how to handle their own affairs."

"Self-sufficiency is fine, but it's not your only defense," Booth assured her.

"I hardly think my father is going to come running every time I'm in need of any real assistance. He's not a superhero; he's a highly dangerous, if not well-meaning, criminal."

"I don't think he was talking solely about your father," Sweets interrupted quietly.

"We're not even talking about me, we were talking about Michelle," she said, her hesitation borne out of the weight of the words that weren't being spoken.

"Of course it was about Michelle," Booth muttered.

"Right. How about we move away from Michelle and back to any issues that might have come up aside from the age at which you lost your virginity," Sweets suggested.

"Good, because that has nothing to do with our ability to work together," Brennan said in a tone that was almost enough to convince one of the two men in the room.

"I won't agree to that completely, but I am willing to put a pin in it for now," Sweets said, extending his fingers and hand in a straight line in her direction.

"The case was fairly straight-forward. The boy was unwilling to give up a possession and got murdered because of it," Brennan acknowledged.

"But it's also weird, because he'd been preparing to go back to the farm and a life in which he wouldn't even be allowed to keep that medal he fought for. He'd have married that girl and they'd work his father's farm and have babies. He'd already broken his own hand to hinder his temptation. It doesn't make any sense," Booth argued.

Brennan nodded. "True. But that's part of what he was experiencing, during his Rumspringa. Though I'm not sure that any of the kids we saw who were supposed to be contemplating their future in the Amish community was partaking in any approved activity in the least. Levi was the only one that seemed to be pursuing a more noble pursuit, and look where that got him," Brennan added.

"I thought you said you hated conjecture," Booth said with a half-hearted laugh.

"I do."

"Then how can you assume that just because his talent for the piano was above average, it was greater than his faith in his religion?" Booth asked.

"I realize that it would be difficult to give up a way of life that was so engrained in him, but not everyone shows that kind of promise. He was clearly a prodigy," Brennan stated her view.

"Just because it made him special, that doesn't mean that he felt it was a gift. To him, it was probably more like a curse," Booth informed her.

"I realize that, but I find that way of thinking unbelievably narrow-minded."

"I feel that we're circling back to the religion argument," Sweets interjected after watching the volley of words between the two.

"It's because we are," Booth agreed, his agitation showing through.

"I'm willing to agree to disagree. It doesn't bother me at all," Brennan acquiesced.

Booth appeared none-too-calm about the idea. "Fine."

"Don't do that," Sweets discouraged. "Remember, this is a safe space. Say whatever is on your mind. It's imperative."

Booth gave a heavy sigh and glanced over at his partner. "It bothers me, and I know it shouldn't. It's not written that we have to agree on anything, it doesn't make our ability to work together any less, but I don't know. Sometimes it feels like you understand me better than anyone else, and yet other times it's like we don't even share the same language. Does that make sense?"

"Perfect sense," Sweets offered.

"I wasn't talking to you," Booth cut him off, as if he were more than a third-wheel than a helpful mediator.

"No, I get that. It's probably worse, now, since you're still getting back to feeling like yourself," she offered. "I don't mean to hinder your progress, Booth. I want to help, if I can."

He dropped his hands into his lap and clasped them. "You do. And the thing about you is that you don't mince words. Like with my belt buckle. You said it was just me. It's not your fault that I'm having trouble remembering just who that is these days."

"This is excellent," Sweets said with full approval. "This is exactly why we're engaging in these sessions."

"I still think it's unnecessary. Booth would have been drawn to his belt buckle on his own, given time. It happened before, and it's only natural, as he's essentially the same person he always was, that he would make the same choice again," Brennan pointed out.

"Ah, but we as humans are capable of learning from past mistakes, even if our subconscious is hiding them from us. On some level, he has to work out if what he'd always done in the past was working for him as he approaches even familiar things after his brain surgery. The mind is a complicated network of associations that are deeper than most people can imagine," Sweets explained.

She turned to Booth and rolled her eyes. "Don't listen to him. There was nothing wrong with you before you had brain surgery, other than the tumor. You liked your life."

He smiled. "I know."

"You two are highly co-dependent and evasive. I'm putting that in my report," Sweets said with a furrowed brow.

"But that won't mean that they'll split up our team, right?" Booth inquired.

Sweets sighed. "I doubt they'd separate the two of you for any reason at this point, given your success rate. But I do have the authority to continue these sessions, and it's my professional opinion that they're helping, so you'll just have to live with it for the time being."

Brennan narrowed her gaze at Sweets. "Does that mean I can get back to reviewing my graduate students' dissertations?"

"Far be it from me to keep you from your work," Sweets held up his hands in surrender. "You're fleeing as well, I assume?" he posed to Booth.

Booth hesitated and sat back. "Nah. I mean, I'm here, and I don't have anything pressing to work on. Parker's with his mom until next week, so I'll stay and finish the session."

Brennan paused and put her hand on the space on the couch between their hips. "Should I stay? I mean, I can, if you want."

"No. You go, you're busy; you have a whole other side to your work, outside our partnership. Go read about carbon hydrating or whatever that was."

"Carbon dating, Booth, it's a means of determining how old the remains we discover are," she explained.

"Right. See, that's got to be more fascinating than sitting here, listening to Sweets tell me that the fact that none of the cereal I had in my house tastes good to me anymore."

She stood up. "That's because I threw out the expired items in your pantry and restocked it with healthier choices when I was waiting for you to get out of surgery," she informed him.

A moment of realization washed over him and he shook his head. "How did you get into my place?"

She smiled. "Your keys were in your pants' pocket. It's not like I picked your pocket while you were still wearing them," she said with a grin.

"Is this one of those moments where you feel she knows you better than anyone else or that you don't speak the same language?" Sweets asked, watching the two of them with earnest.

"Maybe that's the problem," Booth answered honestly. "I'm not even sure I could tell you."

Brennan pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I'll see you later?"

Booth nodded. "Yeah. Later, Bones."

She took her leave then, leaving the room just as she'd found it, with the two men searching out further analysis of problems she was not yet privy to.


	4. Villagers and Chi

Title: Couch Time

Chapter: Villagers and Chi

Summary: Set in season 5 of Bones, just as they return to working cases together. Sweets calls the pair in for a reassessment.

Booth did a general parameter sweep on his way through the obviously empty waiting area. It was an occupational hazard of sorts, upon entering any unknown situation, to remain keenly aware. He had to be able to act on his impulse, and truth be told he never felt much like he was fully in his element in that space. It was easier to wade into when Dr. Brennan and he met and were allowed time in the waiting room together before seeing Dr. Sweets. It had been inevitable that day, as he had to ferry his kid home from his soccer practice, and it was always hard for him to say goodbye to Parker when he was leaving him at his son's mother's house. He hated the process swapping parental responsibility. He wanted to be responsible for Parker all the time. He supposed all parents felt that way, but that knowledge didn't make it any easier in practice. All it did was make him later for his session with the FBI psychologist.

They had clearly begun without him, and it was not going well, if the raised voices he heard as he approached the office door were any indication. Curiosity fought with a heightened sense of urgency, and the desire to rush to his partner's aid won out.

"What is going on in here?" he asked in a demanding fashion as he swiftly entered the room and stood next to Bones, as she sat with her arms crossed over her chest and an expression of extreme annoyance on her otherwise beautiful features.

"Nothing," Dr. Sweets said, almost as if he truly believed the perceived altercation were of no importance.

"Then why were you yelling at Bones?" Booth demanded again, pushing one edge of his jacket to the side, flashing his sidearm out of ingrained habit. Intimidation was a method he was comfortable with, for the sheer fact that it worked. That he was also good at it was simply a bonus.

"Are you allowed to wear that when you're off-duty?" Sweets asked, having taken notice of his little gesture.

"I'm never off-duty. I'm FBI, it's not like I can punch in and out on a time clock. And when my partner is involved," he led.

"It's fine, Booth. You don't need to shoot Sweets on my account," Brennan said matter-of-factly.

Booth looked down at her with a furtive judgment. "Are you sure?"

"I'm your mental health professional. A declaration that you intend to shoot me would be troubling to say the least," Lance declared, not enjoying the private moment his two subjects were sharing.

"If I were going to shoot you, Sweets, I would have done it by now," Booth said with a shake of his head as he sat down next to Brennan.

"If you meant that to be in some way comforting, you failed," Sweets informed him.

"It did sound quite menacing," Brennan said gently to Booth. "Is everything okay with Parker?"

Booth glanced from Bones to Sweets. "Yeah. Parker's fine. I just heard you two yelling at each other from the waiting room. What gives?"

Brennan narrowed her eyes at Sweets. "He started the yelling."

Sweet's mouth dropped open slightly. "I did not! I was just arguing my point, and perhaps I got a little too passionate."

"It was misplaced passion," she said mightily. "He implied yet again that psychology was just as relevant a field of study as anthropology in regard to understanding a group of people, which is hardly the case. Psychology is a brand-new field of study, scientifically speaking, whereas anthropology has been a reliable method of studying cultures over a long period of time. Accurately, I might add. We don't need different areas of thought in our field, because our scientists make actual breakthroughs that can be backed up with real data."

"Our research methods are just as quantifiable as yours are! All my research was subjected to peer review and replicated for confirmation," he defended himself and his profession. "You're just upset that I was correct in my assessment of the suburban mentality, and my pinpointing was so specific that you had to agree with it. That's what's really bothering you."

Bones wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Your insights, if you want to call them that, were based off of anthropological ideas, which were obviously borrowed and relabeled by one of your predecessors for their convenience."

"You have got to be kidding me. People in psychology have breakthroughs and insights every day. Just because they might be similar to findings in other branches of science, it doesn't make them less valuable, as we're applying it to the individual mind as opposed to other facets of the human experience."

"Except that it's not a breakthrough or an insight if it's already been discovered," Brennan argued sensibly.

"Why do you always feel the need to prove that your work is more important than mine?" Sweets inquired, trying to take another angle.

"I don't need to prove it," she said haughtily.

"So, you two didn't need me here at all for this one, I take it?" Booth asked.

"Don't you think he's masking his need for validity by equating our professions?" Brennan asked.

"That's called projecting," Sweets corrected.

Bones held out her hand toward Sweets, as if proving her point. "See? He's doing it again."

"I would agree with you, Bones, if I had any idea what the hell you just said," Booth shook his head.

That sentiment seemed to satisfy her enough that she dropped her hand. Sweets took a deep breath and attempted to collect his thoughts as he went over his case notes.

"So, now that Booth is here, let's get on with this assessment," Sweets said begrudgingly. "You mentioned that you were having an issue with Parker and him viewing you as having a healthy sex life. Were you able to get that resolved? Is that why you were late?"

"Does he want to know if you were late because you were having sex?" Bones asked, slightly confused at the implication.

Booth cleared his throat. He found of late that he didn't want to think about how long it had been since he'd last had sex. It had been longer than his usual dry spell. He would blame his medical trauma, if outright forced to admit just how long it had been. He certainly wouldn't bring up his feelings for his partner, at least, not in front of her. He had tried to envision what her end of that conversation would look like and he was yet to figure out how that would go. Until he thought it would go his way, he was going to steer clear of that whole discussion. And, if his activities of late were any indication, he'd be spending a lot more time in the shooting gallery until then.

"I was late because I was dropping Parker off at his mom's. He and I talked about why he thought I needed to have sex, in a completely age-appropriate way," he explained.

"I helped," Brennan boasted proudly.

Sweets again opened his mouth slightly, surprised at the information. "You two broached the subject of sex with Parker, together as a unit?"

"Booth asked if I would spend time with him and Parker, to show him that Booth in fact is comfortable spending time with women," Brennan supplied.

"You make it sound like I'm secretly gay," Booth said, shaking his head slightly.

"Are you?" Sweets asked.

"I would like to remind you at this point that I am still wearing my sidearm. And it's not the only way in which I could hurt you," Booth warned.

"Why did you choose Dr. Brennan to be your feminine archetype for your son?" Sweets inquired.

"My what?" Booth asked, feeling the headache behind his eyes start to build.

"It's like a female role model," Bones offered.

"I didn't ask her to be the kid's mom, he has one of those."

"Yes, but you and Parker's mom no longer have a romantic relationship. In his eyes, your ability to relate to his mom on an emotional level, outside of interactions with him, has been severed," Sweets pointed out.

Booth felt guilt wash over him. "So?"

"So, I find it interesting that you chose Dr. Brennan to step in and help you provide a united front on the subject of sex to your son."

"All I did was offer him use of my pool," Brennan jumped into the conversation, no doubt to save Booth, who felt as though he were drowning in the deeper meanings being bandied about the room.

"Your pool?" Sweets asked Dr. Brennan.

"In my building, I have a pool. That's why Parker wanted Booth to have sex; he was hoping that the woman he chose to copulate with would want to get married and move to a house with a pool, like his friend's father did. He couldn't actually care less if Booth was enjoying a healthy sex life," Brennan said easily.

"Are you enjoying a healthy sex life?" Sweets asked, his brow furrowing just slightly as he turned his questioning back to Booth.

"Are you?" Booth deflected.

"Actually, my sex life is quite satisfying. Daisy and I are very active in that regard," Sweets smiled in a pleased way, as if he were imagining the satisfaction at that very moment. "She's actually quite a tiger in the bedroom."

"I'd prefer not to speak about Ms. Wick or your sexual pairing," Brennan declared.

"He asked. You were the one that pointed out that Booth doesn't enjoy giving out information without a give and take approach. I gave, now it's his turn."

Both pairs of eyes turned back to Booth. "My sex life is just fine, okay?"

"When was the last time you had sex?" Sweets pressed.

"How is that at all relevant to my job performance?" Booth combatted.

"Well, actually, in a variety of ways. It can affect your job performance if you're not relieving enough stress and pressure in other areas of our life. Sexual frustration is a very powerful component that is often overlooked," Sweets began.

"I'm not sexually frustrated!" Booth declared, and loudly. So loudly that he startled even himself.

"You seem quite frustrated," Sweets volleyed back.

"I am. Just not in a sexual way. I'm frustrated in a very real, want to connect my fist with your face kind of way."

"Physical aggression can be one manifestation of sexual frustration," Sweets nodded, making a note in his ledger.

"I hardly think Booth would act out in such a manner. Even if he hasn't had a suitable sexual partner in a while, neither have I. I would assume he relieves his own urges, in quite the same way I do," Bones informed Sweets.

"Bones. Don't," Booth said with a shake of his head as he squeezed his eyes shut. Not only would thinking about her touching herself not help his own sexual frustration, but Sweets' head would either implode or pontificate to the point of no return.

"What? Self-pleasure is a very efficient means of fulfilling one's sexual needs. It's completely natural, Booth."

Booth grimaced and chanced a glance to Sweets, who from the look on his face seemed to be leaning toward the imploding head scenario.

"Can I make an observation here?" Sweets asked finally, after a brief clearing of his throat.

"I really wish you wouldn't," Booth muttered under his breath.

"As long as it isn't in reference to equating psychology with anthropology," Brennan said with all honesty.

"The two of you seem to bring up the topic of sex a lot."

Booth closed his eyes, whereas Brennan simply frowned before responding. "I don't think that's true. We discuss a wide variety of topics. Perhaps we speak with more candor than other co-workers, but that's all."

"Are you going to deny it as well?" Sweets asked Booth.

"I will only say I speak very sparingly about sex. I feel that some things are meant to remain private."

Sweets eyed one of them and then the other, seeming to make some sort of decision about their relationship given their responses. He gave another sigh.

"You do realize that sex is often a motivation for murder, don't you? Look at all the possible suspects we had in this case, based on their sexual escapades alone," Brennan did her best to rationalize what might be too honest dialogue between her and her partner.

"True. Sex is a very good motive for murder. But the two of you often take the contextual references to sex and personalize them, thus giving each other some sort of glimpse into your own sex lives."

"That sounds like he's saying we're flirting," Booth said, leaning in to Bones in a conspiratorial manner.

She held a hand up and spoke to Booth behind it, an attempt to block them from Sweet's vision. "It's the conversational equivalent to flashing each other."

"That's crazy. We're professionals. We operate within parameters that are determined by our circumstances and the government," Booth argued.

"The same could be said for all your murder suspects in the cul-de-sac," Sweets said passionately, though this time he moderated the volume of his voice.

"Those people were freaks," Booth exclaimed.

"Those people were behaving in rather natural ways, given their close proximity. When people live closely in communities like that, they often find themselves developing connections beyond simply being neighborly. They can see into each other's windows, and over time they welcome them into their homes. These people aren't just offering each other cups of sugar and waving when they pass on the street," Sweets explained.

"And that's just wrong," Booth said with disgust.

"It's a type of forced voyeurism, which often times leads to deeper types of attachment, which can, obviously, delve into psychotic behavior."

"It was like a giant soap opera," Booth simplified.

"You watch soap operas?" Brennan asked, curious.

"No. I mean, I've seen them, in passing. You know, when you're home alone sick, and all there is to do is watch bad television in the day time—soap operas and game shows."

"That's ridiculous. What you should be doing when you're sick is taking in extra fluids and resting. Watching television can disrupt your sleep patterns and raise your blood pressure," Brennan said, not scolding him, but genuinely attempting to correct his misguided behavior.

"Come on, Bones. Everyone watches television when they're sick. What else is there to do?"

"I engage in meditation to lower the load on my cardiovascular system and encourage a better flow of chi."

"Chi?" Booth asked.

"It's what the Chinese call the life force. They believe that all illness and disease are due to disruptions in chi."

Booth furrowed his brow at his partner. "Right," he said, turning to Sweets. "Anything else, Sweets?"

"I am curious how Dr. Brennan feels about the deception Mr. Vaziri was engaged in."

"Is this about the accent thing?" Booth asked, only slightly interested.

"Yes. I noticed quite some time ago that he was using an incorrect accent based on his reported place of origin, but it never interfered with his work, so I never mentioned it," Bones said with a shrug.

"The rest of the lab seemed to take it with quite a bit of shock," Sweets said with concern.

"It's my understanding that they engaged in a forced question and answer session with Mr. Vaziri, and he sufficiently answered all their questions," Bones told him.

"But you don't find it at all odd? Faking an accent, and essentially, a background, it's not exactly trust-building," Booth garnered.

"Perhaps, but the simple fact is that it has no bearing on his work. He does excellent work, and I have no fault with him. It is less grating, now that I'm not constantly aware of him using an incorrect dialect, I guess."

"You're amazing, Bones," Booth said with no small amount of sarcasm.

"Thank you," she smiled, taking only a compliment.

"Do you want to elaborate?" Sweets asked, enjoying the disconnect playing out before him.

"Not really," Booth said with nary a second thought.

"It hardly needs explanation. He clearly thinks I'm superior for not being bothered by such insignificant details," Bones offered.

"Is that what you meant?" Sweets asked.

"I think that sometimes her hyper-rational thought causes her to miss certain nuances," Booth said diplomatically.

"On the contrary, I'm quite observant," she argued, realizing that they were no longer discussing her strong qualities.

"About details and inanimate objects, yes. You are very observant," Booth agreed.

"But you find my attention lacking in some other way?" she demanded.

Sweets said nothing, choosing to sit back and let things unfold. They so rarely came this close to the precipice of what he knew they needed to discuss on their own. They were so easily spooked; he found it best to just let them go.

"I know you're working on it, Bones. I know it doesn't come easily to you," he conceded before actually elaborating on his meaning.

She stiffened slightly. "You mean my interpersonal relationships."

Booth shrugged in acquiescence. "Cam and Angela, they have a harder time separating their personal lives with their work lives."

"Are you referring to the fact that they've both slept with colleagues?" she asked, somewhat unsure.

Booth flushed, having been on the receiving end of that attention. "No, though, I suppose that is a valid point as well. They connect with people on deeper levels than you do. They are there to work, first and foremost, but we all spend a lot of time working together. We're more than colleagues. And when one of us suddenly isn't what they appeared to be, it's jolting. Emotionally speaking," he explained in the simplest terms possible for her.

"Oh. I suppose that makes sense," she nodded in appreciation.

"That's it? That's all it takes for you to understand the concept?" Sweets asked.

Brennan nodded. "I often find it helpful to view issues through Booth's eyes. When I hear his rationality, or try to foresee what his reaction to a social situation would be, it makes it much easier to respond accordingly."

"That's fascinating," Sweets remarked.

"It's not that fascinating," Booth said, not one to encourage Sweets when he was making implications about the pair.

"Even the two of you have to admit that it shows a deeper connection, if she is literally using you as a mirror and measuring stick to her own emotional reactions," Sweets said emphatically.

Booth and Brennan shared a long moment of sustained eye contact. Booth could feel his own emotions bubbling up to a point that he was concerned they would burst out of him without forethought. As much as he felt she wasn't ready for such an outburst on his part, he certainly didn't want to make an expression of passion to her in front of Sweets of all people.

"Personally I find it's much preferable than constantly irritating those around me without my knowledge or intent," Bones said finally.

"And it is imperative, that she be able to read my emotions. We enter into dangerous situations all the time, and if we aren't in tune, it could be disastrous," Booth built off her deflection.

"And that's all it is? The only reason the two of you engage in a personal interaction is solely for the sake of your work?" Sweets asked, totally incredulous.

"I think that our working relationship is something we both hold in high regard," Bones nodded in agreement.

Sweets, past the point of passion or frustration, grasped onto one negating factor. "Then why on earth would you give Booth a key and permission to use your pool just to make his kid happy?"

Dr. Brennan eyed Booth. He reluctantly met her eyes and waited for the answer himself. It had been a gesture that had surprised him. Not that he didn't know she was generous. He knew that she wasn't as cold as most people assumed her to be. She had a huge heart, though a well-guarded heart. The few people that she allowed into her life were lucky enough to see past the smart, rational exterior and get the whole picture of the woman he was sharing that couch with.

"It felt like the right thing to do," she said simply, though with a backwash of emotion.

"And it's not something I'll let Parker take advantage of," Booth said quickly.

"The two of you give me heartburn. I'm a young, healthy guy, but after our sessions, I have a bottle of antacids I keep in my desk drawer now, like an old man. You're killing me."

"You might want to see a medical doctor for that," Bones offered helpfully.

"Listen to her. She went to medical school," Booth pointed to Bones with a smirk sent Sweets' way. He was glad he wasn't the only one that was physically uncomfortable due to these sessions.

"Is that some sort of dig at the validity of my Ph.D.?" Sweets asked hesitantly.

"He's very suspicious," Bones said behind her hand, again solely to Booth.

"Some might say paranoid," Booth agreed behind their little shield.

"All right, very funny. Get out," Sweets said, brushing his hand into the air, signifying they should exit via the door.

"Our session is over?" Bones asked hopefully.

"Yes. My stomach hurts and you two are starting to do that thing you do where you have private conversations in front of people that you seem to think can't hear you. It's annoying," Sweets said, clearly in some form of unease.

"Maybe it's just your chi, all out of whack," Booth supplied.

"Get out, now," Sweets said, now growing cross.

"I'd say you don't need to tell us twice, but seeing as you already have," Bones said as she stood up.

"Does beer help chi?" Booth asked, standing up to open the door for her.

"Beer does provide plasma with protection from oxidation stress, which encourages a balance in the ability to detoxify and recover from damage, so I would feel secure in saying it's quite possibly helpful to one's chi."

"See, now I might not understand any of the words you used, but I do know one thing," Booth said as he shut the door to the office behind him.

"What's that?" she asked with a smile.

"You've got my back, Bones."

"Always, Booth."

He smiled and gestured to the exit. "Let's go get some beer and chi."


	5. Meatloaf and Mummies

Title: Couch Time

Chapter: Mummies and Meatloaf

Summary: Set in season 5 of Bones, just as they return to working cases together. Sweets calls the pair in for a reassessment.

AN: Back with another installment, after some vacation time and finishing another story. Thanks for all the feedback you guys are offering, letting me know that I'm on track with the character voices and all. It's a fun fic to write so far. Enjoy!

Dr. Brennan sat next to her partner in the otherwise empty waiting room, in what might have appeared to be an easy, amicable silence, but in reality all she could do was run through topics in her head that were unlikely to cause tension between her and Booth during their therapy session. The list was admittedly lacking. Unfortunately all she could do was wonder why Booth had gotten so upset with her over the fact that she'd gone out with Andrew Hacker. Angela had seemed to think it was reasonable, the way Booth had acted in regards to the situation, though it had certainly taken her by surprise. The only thing that had really driven home just how upset he was to her was the way he'd looked at her in her office when he came in to hand her the egg. His eyes had been mournful in a way that she couldn't imagine her having drinks and a bit of flirtatious conversation with any person would cause. To her it had been harmless, a bit of fun—something Angela and even Booth often instructed her to interject into her life. Ironically they were the two that had seemed most averse to the whole outing.

They'd not even had a chance to be intimate on the abbreviated date. Even still, Booth had appeared so unhappy, claiming she'd shared too much on the brief date. It made her reevaluate the initial decision to reschedule their interrupted dinner date, which she'd promised to do and thus far had not yet done. She was more certain than before any further interactions with Andrew would lead to sex. She had tried not to dwell on the loss of guaranteed physical contact should she decide not to pursue the relationship outside of work. The strain between her and Booth was more important than her sex life at the moment. She just wished she could come to a solution that would allow both issues to be resolved to her benefit.

"I heard you were going to be on the cover of a journal," Booth said, breaking her out of her thoughts.

She started at the sound of his voice. "What? Oh, yes."

Booth leaned in and narrowed his brown eyes at her. "You okay, Bones?"

She flicked her blue eyes to him and tried to separate her mental escape created out of sexual longing and her reality of sitting in their therapist's waiting room. "I'm just concerned that Sweets is going to want to discuss Miss Wick, and I'd prefer not to hear more about his relationship with her. He tends to delve into unnecessary detail that has nothing to do with our professional association."

Booth seemed to find this an acceptable answer. "It's bad enough you have to share the limelight with her on the whole mummy cause of death thing, huh?"

Brennan bristled. "She's owed her due. She did assist me in the finding. It would be wrong to omit her from the literature." Not that she wished things could be different. There were plenty of rules in life that she followed, despite her desires. Rules gave her structure, and she had always been glad of structure.

"That's very mature of you, Bones."

She gave a shrug. "It's just how adults behave. When there are established rules to follow, it's best for everyone to work within the system. Right?"

She met his gaze as he stared at her, almost in disbelief. She was well aware of the subtext in her own question, but once again she was hit with a flood of unspoken emotion radiating from her partner. His intensity was such that it was physically uncomfortable to sit next to him and not react in some kind of primal manner. But that was not how their system worked. And if she wanted their system to keep working, she could not give in to baser urges when it came to Booth. But she still wasn't clear as to why she had to avoid doing so with his boss' boss. A woman had to have some kind of release now and then, after all.

"Right," he said tightly. The tension between them was broken as Sweets' door opened and he stood in the frame, smiling in a blissful ignorance at them.

"Come on in, you two," he said eagerly.

Brennan stood, being followed in kind, as if it were a well-rehearsed movement, only a second later by Booth. He ushered her in ahead of him by way of drafting her steps, and he took the time to shut the door behind them as she sat down on the couch.

"Dr. Brennan, I would like to congratulate you again on your very impressive achievement," Sweets said, still with an exuberant grin in place.

"Thank you. It was an honor, as well as a statistical improbability, to have been a part of something so rare. The chance of an Egyptian mummy being part of an FBI crime scene is incalculable."

"Daisy has spoken of little else since the findings were discovered," Sweets shared. "She's been absolutely glowing since the night that the Egyptian government honored you."

Dr. Brennan frowned in distaste and cut her eyes to Booth. He cleared his throat and leaned forward toward Sweets. "You know what you need in here? A nice hard candy."

Dr. Sweets frowned at Booth. "Excuse me?"

Booth shook his head and expanded his hands. "I'm not saying you should have a candy-store selection or anything, but would it kill you to put out a dish with some butterscotch or peppermints?"

"Are you trying to quit smoking, Agent Booth?" Sweets asked quizzically.

"What? No, why would you ask me that?" Booth bristled.

Sweets upturned a palm. "You seem to have an oral fixation. It's common in people who are trying to quit smoking. It can manifest because of other issues as well, of course."

Booth put up his own hand to signal the shrink to stop. "I just thought it was a helpful suggestion."

Sweets nodded and jotted something down in his book.

"I do not have an oral fixation."

Sweets glanced up at him. "If you insist."

"I do insist," Booth pressed.

"Okay. Is there any other topic you'd like to bring up or refute before I can offer my assistance?" he asked in a sarcastic tone.

"Nope," Booth said succinctly.

"What about you, Dr. Brennan?" Sweets asked, turning his full concentration to her.

She felt the pressure of a question forming in the back of her throat, which was ridiculous to her as she knew very well that her Broca's area was responsible for her language production, and electrical impulses were sent to her muscles in her tongue and jaw to form the actual words, but still. At that moment, it felt like there was a ball in her throat comprised of words that she was hesitant to utter. At last, she turned to Booth and whispered. "Am I still not allowed to talk about the meatloaf?"

Booth's gaze cut through her. "Are you kidding me?"

Sweets frowned. "Meatloaf?"

"Stay out of this, Sweets," Booth said with warning in his voice.

"Please, Booth. It might help me to understand exactly what I did that was so wrong. I hate that I upset you."

Booth let out a heavy sigh. "You didn't upset me. I'm fine."

She reached out and put her hand on his elbow. "You were upset, Booth. I saw the way you looked at me. I don't care to ever have you look at me like that again. It was awful."

His whole face softened. "I didn't mean to upset you, I just didn't like the situation. It's not exactly easy for me."

"What situation?" Sweets interrupted yet again, seeing as it was his office they were choosing to discuss the topic in.

Brennan waited, her eyes still trained on her partner's face. They sat like that, deadlocked, for what seemed a long while, until Booth finally gave a curt nod. She continued warily. "Booth's boss asked me out to dinner."

Sweets froze for a moment before glancing between them. "Seriously?"

Booth shifted uncomfortably. "Technically he's my boss's boss."

"Assistant Director Hacker asked you out on a date," Sweets reiterated, referring to Dr. Brennan.

"And she accepted," Booth continued the line along.

"Oh. Oh, so this is very weird for you," Sweets said, swiveling his pen around to point at Booth.

"It puts me in an uncomfortable position. I do not care to hear about the sex lives of my co-workers," Booth said with distaste.

"Is Assistant Director Hacker in the habit of filling you in on his sex life?" Sweets asked sensibly.

"What? No!" Booth said, still horrified at the inclination. "But when your partner is involved, there is a certain amount of assumed knowledge and from there certain conversations are inevitable."

"What conversations?" Brennan asked, taking the words from Sweets' mouth.

Booth let out a hassled sigh. "Nothing… specific. Just you know, questions about you, what you like, that kind of thing."

Brennan frowned. "Why would he ask you questions about what I like? I mean, obviously he was attracted enough to want to spend more quality time with me in order to find out if we're sexually compatible. Unless you and I had a sexual relationship, it's unlikely that you could fill him in in a satisfactory manner on whether he and I would be a good fit in that regard. Which truly makes no sense because if you and I had a sexual relationship either it wouldn't have ended if it were good or you would have a biased view on the matter, if we had in fact ended it for some reason."

"I get it, Bones," Booth managed.

"So you've been sexually intimate with this man?" Sweets inferred.

Brennan shook her head. "No. In fact, we never even had dinner. We met briefly for drinks, but before we could order dinner Angela called me in to work on the mummy. Andrew was very understanding, since it was a murder investigation. It's hard to find men that are that forgiving about the nature of my work."

Sweets shot Booth and expectant look. "I would imagine you have the same issues."

Booth shrugged. "You know. It's hard to cut out on an attractive woman for a dead body. But it's my job."

Brennan nodded sympathetically. "I would imagine that's why you and Cam were so compatible," she offered.

"I guess. Look, we talked about it beforehand, and if they'd kept me out of the conversation like she promised, it would have been fine."

Sweets turned a discerning eye back to Dr. Brennan. "You discussed Booth on your date?"

Brennan sighed. "It was just a drink, and it was completely inadvertent. We were looking at the menu and Andrew asked me what was good to eat. I just told what I thought was a harmless anecdote about the meatloaf," she explained.

"It wasn't your anecdote!" Booth exclaimed.

She frowned. "I realized that when you brought me the egg," she said with meaning.

"What egg?" Sweets asked, lost in their constant personal references.

Brennan sealed her lips shut and gave Booth a pleading glance. He rolled his eyes and gave a groan. "Does it really not occur to you that I tell you things, personal things about my life, that I don't tell anyone else?" he asked, turning to her and shutting out their surroundings.

"I did hurt you," she said with a great level of disappointment.

"Yeah, I guess you did," Booth admitted.

"You guys, this is huge," Sweets announced, more than pleased at their progress.

"Don't get all shrinky on us," Booth warned.

"Even you have to admit that this is a facet of your interpersonal relationship that directly relates to your job performance. She's dating your boss—that has to have an effect on both of you, separately and jointly," Sweets explained. "I'm not fully certain where the egg fits into the meatloaf, but," he trailed off.

"I promise not to mention you at all on our next date," Brennan said with utmost sincerity.

Booth and Sweets both turned to her then, shock on both their faces. "You're going to see him again?" Sweets asked, though it was clear it what both men wanted to know.

A sinking sensation overtook her lower abdomen. "I had promised to simply postpone our interrupted evening. Though I suppose if there were a reason I shouldn't reschedule," she led, once again looking to Booth as a guide rather than Sweets.

Sweets, sensing the height of tension in the room, decided to offer his two cents. They never actually asked for his advice, but this time they both seemed glad for the intervention. "If I may, I'd like to share a very important lesson I learned recently. I tried too hard to make things easy for Daisy—not only calling in a personal favor with Dr. Brennan to regain Daisy good standing back on the Jeffersonian team, but then trying to make sure that every last minute of her time spent working on the case went as smoothly as possible. In my altruistic efforts to aid her, I actually did her a disservice."

Brennan frowned. "It wasn't entirely your fault. Miss Wick tries too hard. It's something the two of you share in common, actually."

Sweets winced, realizing he should have braced himself for more abrasive comments. "I realize that, thank you, Dr. Brennan. But my point is that no matter how much you care for someone, you can't live their lives for them. You can only help someone so much before you have to let them make their own decisions and their own mistakes."

Brennan seemed to take in his words before turning to Booth. "Is he talking about you or me?"

"I'm not trying to keep Bones from making a mistake," he said wearily.

"So you don't care if she gets hurt by a romantic downturn with Hacker?" Sweets offered.

"Of course I care, I never said I didn't care," Booth snapped.

"Then what exactly bothers you about her dating him?" Sweets nailed down the most specific question that they'd been skirting.

"I told you! I don't want to become part of their personal business!" Booth said, growing angry yet again.

"This is my fault," Brennan stated matter-of-factly.

"No," Booth said, softening a bit.

"Then what is bothering you, Agent Booth?" Sweets asked, not letting Booth off the hook.

Booth gave Brennan a pained expression, and she ached for him to be free of whatever was bothering him, whether it was under her control or not. He'd never expressed a desire to explore more than a professional relationship with her while they were working together—he was the epitome of the job in her presence. They'd discussed on a number of occasions how what they had was unique and too important to have anything disrupt the apple cart as it were. An inkling of understanding washed over her.

"I won't see him again, if you're afraid it'll mess things up between us, Booth. I'll tell him today, if you like."

Booth's whole body relaxed instantly. "You'd do that?"

She nodded. "Of course. You said, 'what goes on between us is ours.' And if my dating your superior might mess up our working relationship, it's not worth an evening of stimulating conversation and most likely agreeable sex."

Sweets watched the two of them with a modicum of suspicion. "I just want to be clear here," he began. "The two of you are claiming all your issues surrounding this are work related?"

"You never know how people will react in the aftermath of a personal relationship," Booth said to Sweets. "Surely you of all people know that."

Brennan nodded. "Look at you and Miss Wick. In the interest of continuing your sexual relationship, you intruded into her work life in order to keep her happy professionally so that she'd continue making you happy sexually."

Sweets faltered. "I wouldn't say it went quite that way," he stalled.

"How would you say it went?" Booth asked, smirking.

"Well, I mean, obviously Daisy was pleased with the outcome of my intervention. Especially with it ending up with her being published in a major journal as being a part of such a historic find. But if you're asking if we had sex in the Egyptian storage area, then I would like to be clear that we most certainly did nothing to risk damage to any of the very important artifacts in the Jeffersonian's collection," he managed.

Booth smiled. "Nice."

"I would never be as boisterous as Sweets' is about my sexual exploits, if that's your concern," Brennan addressed Booth. "I think only men discuss sex without discretion like that."

"I don't think he's worried that you would have gone into detail about your sexual relationship with his boss," Sweets said assuredly.

"My boss' boss," Booth corrected again.

"I think what bothered Agent Booth is exactly what you just said—men discuss sex without much discretion, especially with other men. He's afraid that Hacker would reveal intimate details about you afterward."

"I thought we had this settled. She's not going to see him again, so what's to discuss?" Booth asked, hoping to drop the last line of conversation.

"You think he would do that?" she asked Booth.

He shrugged. "Men talk. It's all locker room stuff. It's not a big deal most of the time, but usually you don't know the women guys are talking about. I wouldn't want to hear him say things about you."

"That sounds chivalrous somehow," she said, giving Booth a pleased smile.

"Can I make an observation here?" Sweets asked, giving them too much say so yet again.

"Actually, I think we're good," Booth said, clearing his throat.

"I know I feel better," Brennan nodded in agreement.

"I think we could push a little further," Sweets tried.

"I think I need a beer," Booth announced.

"And meatloaf. I've been craving it all week," Brennan added, as she stood up.

"You read my mind, Bones. Let's go."

"You guys, come on. We're so close," Sweets said to their retreated backs. It was too late, however, as they were already focused on the stress-free meal they'd share, just between the two of them.


End file.
